


The Other Side

by TimeHeals



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeHeals/pseuds/TimeHeals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, she’s seven. She can’t recall exactly what she had done, but it must have been really awful, because, next thing she knew, she had been slapped so hard she started seeing double.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side

The first time it happens, she’s seven. She can’t recall exactly what she had done, but it must have been really awful, because, next thing she knew, she had been slapped so hard she started seeing double.

She had placed her small hand on her burning cheek, tears in her eyes, heart beating like a hammer inside her chest. _I’m sorry_ , she had tried to say, _I didn’t mean to_ ; but no sound came out of her mouth.

\- How can you be so bloody _useless_ , Francesca? - The woman above her bellows, speech slurred and eyes unfocused. She’s unsteady, and grabs at the table beside her, accidentally knocking down a table lamp, which falls to the ground in a loud crash of glass, plastic and wood.

Little Franky jumps at the sound, startled. Her mother is looking at her with this vicious expression, like she just committed a capital offence.

\- Look what you did, Francesca! – Her mum yells, angrily

She opens her mouth again, _Please don’t hurt me_ , she wanted to plead, _I’m sorry_. As her mum clumsily reaches for the fallen object, and the little girl crawls backwards when she sees the intoxicated woman raising her hand, lamp included, and then brings it down towards her.

She lets out a frightened whimper, closing her eyes and waiting for the pain to come. But it doesn’t. So she slowly, _slowly_ opens her eyes and looks up. Her father’s there, his large hand around the body of the lamp. He harshly rips it from his wife’s grip and puts it back on the messed up table.

Alan rushes to his daughter and grabs her hand, the one which is not pressed against her cheek, and squeezes gently. She smiles; she’s safe now. Her dad will always protect her. He never yells at her, like her mum; he doesn’t walk funny or break things or say ugly stuff to her.

He loves her.

\- You okay, kid? – He squeezes her hand a little tighter, his eyes sad. She nods, squeezing back.

Franky doesn’t know a lot of things, she realizes; doesn’t know why her parents scream at each other so much, why her mum takes that weird stuff that makes her so angry, or why she can hear her daddy crying almost every night.

But there’s she something she knows; she will always be safe with him.

 

* * *

 

A week after her tenth birthday, her dad leaves.

 _It’s your fault he left_ , she says as she presses the burning end of the cigarette to her side.

\- I-I’m so-sorry – she cries. The woman scoffs.

\- You’re so _dumb_ , you can’t even speak properly. It’s no wonder he left. She squeezes her eyes shut at the words, and soon, a disgusting smell reaches her nose, a smell she knows she will never forget.

When her mum finally gets tired and leaves her there, she goes to the bathroom, wets a towel, and presses it to her side, sighing in relief at the cooling sensation it brings.

She sits by the window, the towel now dry and the spot on her side still burning, and waits.

 

* * *

 

She’s in math class, three years later, when the teacher turns to his class, points to the equation written on the blackboard, and asks what the solution is. Franky lifts her glance towards it, _-13_ , she thinks, and raises her hand because hell, she should really improve her grades, and she’s promised herself to start making an effort in school.

The teacher looks at her with a raised brow, and shakes his head.

\- I don’t have time for your jokes, Francesca. – He looks around - Someone who actually _knows_ the answer, please? – Franky lowers her hand, jaw clenched, as the teacher scans the class with his eyes; when no one raises their hand, he sighs disappointedly.

\- It’s minus thirteen, guys, it’s really not that complicated – She gets up from her seat as he writes it on the board, and she’s out the door before he can speak.

 _Fuck school_ , She thinks before she slams the door shut.

 

* * *

 

It’s her English teacher who notices it first. She’s in the bathroom, trying to cover up with make up the bruise that has formed on her shoulder, and she could have sworn she had locked the door; apparently not, because moments later she was standing before the elderly woman, shirtless and with a massive bruise on her shoulder.

The teacher’s eyes go comically wide. When she’s recovered from the shock, she tells her gently to put her shirt back on and guides her to a room she’s never been in.

She’s told to wait there, and half an hour later, there’s a man with a kind smile and honest eyes asking her about her family, her mum, and her life at home. He treats her well, talks to her like she’s an equal and that sends a pleasant warmth to her chest.

He seems to care. Maybe she can trust him. Maybe he’ll save her.

He takes her hand tenderly, prompting her to answer his earlier question. She looks down at her hand, now covered by his much larger one. He squeezes gently, just like her dad used to.

She takes her hand out of his quickly, as if it had burned her.

 _He doesn’t care_ , she tells herself. He won’t help her, he won’t save her. Why would he? It’s all her fault anyway.

By the end of the following hour, she has managed to convince him that she had just fallen down from her bike, and everything was just _fine_ at home.

 

* * *

 

\- I got a call – Franky turns around to face her mother, eyes scared and hands shaky. – From your principal.

\- Mum, I swear I didn- the slap cuts her off mid sentence, and she can hear the sound of a cigarette being lighted.

When her mother whispers, as she presses the cigarette to the back of her hand, things like ‘ _you’re just a worthless piece of shit_ ’ or ‘ _you’re not smart enough_ ’ or ‘ _you ruined my life_ ’, she still tries to shake her head, but when she says it again, that he left because of her, she believes her.

It’s all her fault, anyway.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost midnight when she comes home, only to find her mother slumped in the couch, an empty syringe on the table and a bottle of booze cradled in her arms. _Shit_ , she thinks to herself, this is one of the bad days.

Her stomach growls, and she walks into the kitchen; she has to hold her breath, because right beside the fridge is a puddle of vomit. After she’s cleaned it up she opens the fridge; the contents consist in; a lapsed yogurt, three bottles of beer, and two eggs. She sighs tiredly; _it’ll have to do_.

When she’s finally done cooking, she puts the plate on the counter and takes a bite; it’s pretty awful, actually, but it can be eaten and her stomach’s not feeling particularly dainty. ‘ _I would really like to learn how to cook_ ’ she thinks to herself.

As she’s taking her second bite, her mother walks into the kitchen and takes the plate from her, grabbing a fork and clumsily taking the food to her mouth. She chews for a second and spits it on the floor.

\- This shit’s disgusting. Are you really so _stupid_ , that you can’t even cook some _eggs_? – Franky tries to grab for the food, because, fuck, she _made_ that, as bad as it may be, and her stomach’s killing her.

The woman just laughs at her, stumbling towards the couch and eating the whole of it. Then, she lets the empty dish fall to the floor and passes out on the couch.

Franky picks up the plate, her hands shaking with rage. She’s so _angry_. She throws it at a nearby wall and watches it shatter. It feels good; to break something. She thinks that maybe that’s why her mum rejoices in breaking her over and over again. Destruction feels good, even though it shouldn’t.

Maybe they’re not that different, after all.

That night, with her stomach growling and aching and tears in her eyes, she sits by the window, and waits.

 

* * *

  
End of Part I


End file.
